


After Bones

by mckirkiing (insouciant)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:20:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2613134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insouciant/pseuds/mckirkiing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span>inspired by this lovely poem (<a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179267">x</a>)</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Bones

 

“So how's life going with you two?” You ask.

 

“Oh, you know, a typical night after a typical day. Same old work, same old meals, same old who-does-the-dishes and who-takes-out-the-trash, and same old everything basically.” The reply is too relatable to you that you shake your head at them.

 

“Yeah, tell me about it. It's one hell of a boring life we've got going, isn't it?” You answer.

 

Leonard's brows shot up his hairline at your comment and Jim bursts out in laughter at the situation, the obviously misunderstood conversation, because when they said _same old everything_ , they were also saying _same old love with the same old person_ , and honestly, it's precisely these unsaid words that make everything, even the most trivial things, _annoyingly_ enjoyable. (Of course, Bones would mutter that those "enjoyable" moments are annoying, but Jim has learned already many years ago to read through his words and their layers.)

 

“Bones makes even washing dishes and cleaning the bathroom tiles fun. You know I'll do them all over again just to spend more time with this one.” You cringe at the too sweet taste that's left inside your mouth at Jim's words. The sweetness that you have yet to experience yourself. A small part of you even doubts you'll ever experience something these two silly (and cranky, because come on, this is Leonard we're talking about) lovebirds have.

 

They say their goodbyes and turn around, Leonard's arms crossed grumpily at whatever Jim had just whispered in his ear. You shake your head again as you see the palm of Jim's hand resting on Leonard's back, drawing little circles with his thumb. _Silly lovebirds_ (and they’re definitely not two little white doves making heart shapes with their gorgeous wings, but rather a golden yellow duckling and a grumpy owl with a too big heart.)

 

=

 

There's no need to really, but at least once a week, one of them picks the other one up at work and despite their crazy schedule and odd hour shifts, they make it work 99 percent of the time, tonight being one of the many evenings Jim had driven to Bones' hospital with shining eyes and all bright smile. _How was work?_ One of them would ask and most days, the answer would be quite a repetitive one, but they don't mind. They don't mind it at all.

 

If anything, Jim's voice is a reassuring constant in a way the waves crash on the shore--most days, calming and soothing, and some days, powerful like those from a storm, crashing enough to break and reshape the strongest of stones, but in the end, constant all the same, constantly returning. Free to roam all over the world, yet constantly returning. (Returning to Bones. Brittle, brittle Bones who needs his waves.)

 

If anything, Bones' voice is a reassuring constant in a way the stones are along the seaside--no matter how much time has passed, unmoving and unchanging, although its shape may have shifted and altered from waves and harsh weathers, the core staying constant no matter what. (You are _my_ bones. Take 'em all away from me and I wouldn't give a single fuck about it as long as you stay. As long as all I've got left is _my_ Bones.)

 

Dinner is light and quick, because let's be honest, who the hell cares if they end up eating ramen noodles for dinner for the rest of their lives? The point in all this dining is for the _togetherness_. ( _Jim, you damn idiot, be a realist for once, will you? Who the hell cares? Our bodies would damn well care and scream for help before we die of heart attack from all the junks that have accumulated-_ Jim never heard the fearful end of Bones' elaborate death scenario. Maybe kissing was involved, because Jim is a _goddamn child_ who likes to shut people up with pretty kisses from those pretty, pouty lips. _You obviously didn't discipline your child--yes, I’m referring to myself in third person--well enough then. You know he keeps doing it, because he knows you don't stop him hard enough and we both know the kisses work miracles on a grouchy doctor like you, Bones._ The mouth belonging to one Leonard Mccoy was opened to spit out words of protest, but was, once again, muffled and swallowed. Maybe another kiss was involved. We'll never know.)

 

They clean up together. Jim doing the scrubbing tonight, humming a tune that, Bones is certain, does not exist in any records yet and bumping his hips on him every three seconds as Bones tries to dry the dishes off with a green, ragged towel on his hand. (He slaps Jim's ass with it so they can _please_ finish this and get on with their other house errands, but Jim only ends up wiggling--for Christ's sake _wiggle_ \--his behind and throwing dirty comments involving words like _chains_ and _whips_ and _excite me_. Wait, maybe Jim was singing those obscene songs that Bones never cares to listen til the end.)

 

=

 

They’re in bed, finally, after countless distractions and out-of-tune singing from Jim (and really, Bones _knows_ this man child can sing, _knows_ that he can sing like a fuckin’ Prince Charming from those Disney movies, _knows_ that that one Halloween actually happened and wasn’t a figment of his imagination when Jim actually dressed up as Prince Charming and sang to him, who was dressed as a lousy vampire, fake blood trickling on the edge of his lips on his powdered white face, with his gorgeous, deep voice and made his knees go weak--no, Bones will never admit he actually fell in bed with one slight push to the shoulder from Jim because he was so awestruck by Mr. Jim freakin’ Prince Charming’s romantic singing--so he doesn’t understand where all this comically terrible singing is coming from).

 

They’re in bed, finally, but this doesn’t mean sex. Well, not always. Believe it or not, these two silly (and cranky) lovebirds don’t always _make love_ every single moment of every single day on every single surface they can get their bodies on. (Maybe once upon a time they had done so, when they were a bit younger and their love was more of flames in the mountains on a dry day, dangerous and wild, and definitely _not_ long lasting, but now they are adjusted, they’re completely together without the doubt or vulnerability of their love being lost. They’re steady and constant. Like the sun. Like waves.)

 

They’re in bed, finally. Bones is on his stomach trying to read some short stories from his tablet, sliding his finger from one end to the other. It’s a comfortable silence with Bones’ occasional grunts and scoffs--Jim always smiles at Bones’ reaction when he’s reading--when there are soft fingers studying the field of freckles spread across Bones’ body. Jim calls it _studying_. He’s done it so many times that he’s lost count, studying Bones’ freckles, his skin, his muscles and bones with the tip of his fingers, the palms of his hands, the surface of his lips (sometimes chapped from biting them too much and Bones feels them on his skin and worries), the heat of his tongue, and the edge of his teeth. (He would happily add his cock to the list as well, but he knows Bones will kick his ass to the moon and _not_ back for it.)

 

Bones feels Jim’s lips following the trails left from his fingers, one little freckle to another. Then he’s gently turned to face his blue eyes, full of wonder. (Full of love.) Sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with his body--his own damn body--when Jim’s studying him. _Study my ass_ , because really, Jim’s done this studying too damn many times to call it that. He has no doubt he’d already memorized his body a long time ago, inside and out, and the thought oddly brings a shudder throughout him. (Of course, when he’d muttered  _study my ass_ that’s exactly what Jim had done in a more literal sense.)

 

“What- Jim, why are you holding a pen?” But Jim doesn’t answer. Well, he does, with a smile. He takes the top off with his teeth and the pen’s heading down, landing carefully on Bones’ skin. He’s flinching and there are disapproving lines already formed on his face, but when Jim is shushing him like he’s a child who’s about to let out a whine, Bones stops the protest and settles with a pout. He really wants to cross his arms if only Jim wasn’t holding one of his wrists with his fingers, drawing his favorite shape on the skin where he can feel Bones’ heartbeats. ( _Circle_ , he says. _Circles are my favorite.They’re everlasting. They’re neverending. They’re constant._ )

 

The tip of the pen is cool to his skin, but it’s not sharp enough to hurt. He can feel the line being drawn, then coming to a stop, then continuing to another angle, and then another, and then some more. He sees the left of his shoulder, close to his heart, has become Jim’s sandy sky filled with black ink constellations. He really wants to throw a smartass comment, except he really can’t, because they’re beautiful. Jim makes his body feel beautiful, makes him feel loved inside and out. _Damn it._

 

“You gonna name them after some silly mythical gods or something?” He says as grumpily as he can, trying to hide the crashing waves of marvel-- _how in the world did a guy like me end up with a guy like you_ \--inside him, but who is he joking? Jim has learned to see right through him.

 

“Gods? Hmm, the ones who guide the lost ones in the dark with their brightness would be nice, won’t it?” Jim ponders. He ponders and ponders a little more until he’s laughing lightly at whatever thought has settled inside him. He shakes his head, saying _nah_. He lowers his lips to kiss Bones’ chest, where his heart should be deep underneath. “I’m going to name them Bones. Every single one of ‘em.”

 

 _God damn it_ _._ Jim laughs at the voice above him, his ear on Bones’ heart, steadily beating faster. The blush on his face has reached his neck and Jim wants to kiss all of them and make it worse, of course.

 

If they _have_ to use the fire metaphor for their love, then yes, they have sparks, beautiful sparks here and there every once in a while (or maybe several times a day, they can’t tell sometimes). Little, heartwarming sparks like mini fireworks, like their own private fireworks that only they can see, only they can feel. A night like tonight is one of them, when Jim decides to be greedy and create stars upon stars on Bones’ freckles and name them _his_ _Bones_ on the warm plain of his skin.

 

(end)

 

**Author's Note:**

> whew this is my first mckirk fic and gah so nervous and excited alskdfh


End file.
